Pacific Index

FOR PACIFIC STUDENTS’ EYES ONLY: Unveiling the secret major at Pacific that no one knows about

   A week or two before spring break, a friend of mine, G., told me of something ailing him. His eyes were wild, wholly bloodshot and drooping, as if he hadn’t slept in four to five days and had noticed something entirely disturbing to whatever reality he had contented himself to living in. Over sour UC coffee, during a dreary morning breakfast, he told me of a group of shadowy, tie-clad, sunglass-wearing individuals hiding behind trees, the odd corner or pillar in buildings, and the night itself; people bearing cameras, notepads, and determined expressions who were tailing him. 

   Over multiple meetings where he rambled extensively, with my abilities at clarification he scrounged together a claim that these mysterious individuals were hiding outside his window in Burlingham. He also claimed they followed him throughout his weekly routine, ultimately putting together that he was being studied. He believed himself to be an object of intense, concerted surveillance. Being something of a friend of his, as well as the only person he felt comfortable telling this information to, I felt the obligation to investigate further. I had conversations with multiple other students, wherein I had to break the ice by beginning with, “Be real with me, are you being followed and photographed throughout the day?” With all of their surprised, though relieved faces, I was able to draw the conclusion that a large number of students were, as a classmate of mine, V. put it, “persons of interest.”

   It was then that I remembered a specific clause in the student contract, written in slightly invisible, or rather translucent ink, which stated: “Sign here if you do not consent to being a test subject for the school’s secret spy program” on page fifty or sixty. I had quickly forgotten about this specific instance during my admission, though perhaps many other students hadn’t been aware of this specific jackpot they’d unknowingly fallen into. Though, I soon became aware, because of my declining perception for such gimmicks, that I had not been so vigilant in the recent student contracts I had signed. It hit me. I had seen the same figures, the same cameramen, the same stalkers in the wooded, mist-ridden night. Most interestingly it was only when I started asking questions that they had made themselves apparent. 

   After this realization, a plan was hatched with the help of my friends C. and D. D., who worked on occasion in the building behind, allowed me his keycard, which granted access within. C. posed as me in my window. With a simple change in cosmetics and a piling on of pounds through intense, rather revolting overeating, C. went about his night, shades open, as a replacement for me.

   I entered the building, went through the hallways of the surprisingly absent pool house, climbed the stairs, opened the door to the roof quietly, and soon found myself face to back to a trio of individuals in prone positions; cameras, notepads, and listening devices in hand. When asked what they were doing, they (all three being men of a similar age to mine) remained somewhat calm, and claimed that they were in fact students just as I was. I, being in a shambling, shaking UC coffee binge, felt quite unwell at the realization, and pressed the three for answers. The ringleader, NONAME ALLOWED, gave me the email of their instructor, one Professor Jean Deaux, who was more than willing to meet. He wore a baggy three piece suit, buff tie, a slouching panama hat, aviator sunglasses, and what I suspected to be a fake nose and beard when I came to his office, in the secret basement beneath the basement of Walter, of which you have to press the buttons of the elevator in morse code to the rhythm of the theme song of the 80’s TV show Knight Rider to access. What he told me was both enlightening and, shall I say horrifying. 

   Through a voice changer which shockingly resembled both Charlie Rose and Walter Cronkite, which he held to his lips and fake nose, he told me: “Because of the budget cuts, we’ve had to up our surveillance in order to show to the administration that we, in fact, are a vital and integral part of campus. I bet they don’t even take into account the multiple water druggings and thwarted spy emplacements that the espionage programs of L.C, R., and U.P. have attempted to enact on our campus when they thought about cutting the program entirely.”  

   He further spoke about how necessary the program is in the training of operatives which will one day be the future secret population of the U.S., and how necessary surveillance is to ensure, not only a tidy campus life, but also a tidy civil life. What further troubled me was the sleeper cells he told me about; students garbed in athleisure-wear, pajama pants, and broccoli haircuts, all of whom claim indeterminate roster spots on sport teams here; who are instructed to sit in the back of classes, scroll through multiple social media apps, watch certain overly-obnoxious twitch streamers, play video-games on their laptops, hog as many weights as possible in the gym, never raise their hands or contribute in class at all, and achieve mediocre grades all to lull students and professors alike into a sense of security and normalcy. He claimed the purpose of all this to be for, “adequate law and order.” When I asked why, he wouldn’t respond and the windowless office was reigned to silence before his voice changer sputtered and his voice changed pitch dramatically to that of my professor and advisor Professor P. B. 

   At that moment, a sense of panic overcame him, and when he pressed a button underneath his desk, a pair of burly bodyguards stormed in, took my by the arms then dragged me out towards a stark white room with an intensely deranged looking clown painted on the center wall, of which I was imprisoned in for four to five days while a playlist of Dean Martin, Jerry Lewis, and Tony Bennet played continuously. I was allowed minimal water and bread for survival, and availed myself to write in my notebook in continuation, upon thirty or so pages: HELP! 

   After my imprisonment, I have noticed an uptick in my surveillance, as well as the doom scrolling goons populating my classrooms. With every raising of my hand, question asked, or clarification demanded, a major significance has been placed on me from my classmates, who otherwise would stare into the infinity of twenty second clips of sport highlights, quick tips, and conspiracy videos. 

Happy April Fools!